


the taste of heaven

by dendryllio



Category: Snowpiercer (2013)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gen, Schizophrenia, consensual cannibalism, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:14:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29990967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dendryllio/pseuds/dendryllio
Summary: “Our destiny, can’t you see? You know, you’ve heard, haven't you? Gillian’s talked of it, I’ve heard whispers, voices in the night, telling me to wait, just to wait a bit longer. But what for? Oh, what for indeed. I thought I was waiting for the Revolution, Curtis, but all this time I was waiting for you.”
Relationships: Edgar & Curtis Everett, Edgar/Curtis Everett
Kudos: 1





	the taste of heaven

**Author's Note:**

> basically i made them mentally ill

Curtis wiped an uncharacteristic tear from his cheek as he finished telling the story of himself, of Edgar, of his mother, finally daring to look into the boy’s eyes. He didn’t seem to be affected. And if he was, it was in… a  _ positive  _ manner? Curtis didn’t understand.

“Then that’s it, isn’t it?”

“It’s what?  _ What’s _ what?” Curtis stared deep into Edgar’s copper eyes, picking up on a twinge of what he could only label insanity, recognising it from his own eyes, in the early days of the Train. “Edgar, you’re scaring me.”

The young man let out a harsh laugh, not much more than an exhale of hot air that clouded in the bitter cold of the early evening.

“Our destiny, can’t you see? You know, you’ve heard, haven't you? Gillian’s talked of it, I’ve heard whispers, voices in the night, telling me to wait, just to wait a bit longer. But what for? Oh, what for indeed. I thought I was waiting for the Revolution, Curtis, but all this time I was waiting for you.” Edgar shot forward suddenly, scooting closer to Curtis where the large man was sitting on the other side of the top bunk’s lumpy mattress. 

“How could I have been so daft? You were here all along, Curtis! It was you, Curtis, you’re the beginning of my end. You can feel it too, I know you can. Can’t you, Curtis?”

“Stop. Stop talking.” Curtis was shivering, but not from the cold. He felt a deep guilt settling in his bones. He did this. Edgar would be fine, would be  _ sane,  _ if only he had spared his mother. 

Although, if he thought about it longer, Curtis would realise that it was unreasonable to believe that. The signs he had been noticing, been  _ ignoring,  _ as Edgar aged with every pass over Yekaterina Bridge, were deep set into the boy’s mind. Nothing that could be fixed with something so simple as a living mother. And Curtis was no psychiatrist, but he heard voices too, felt urges, selfish ones. He got those intrusive thoughts, the ones that told him to hurt those he loved, those around him; he hadn’t killed Edgar’s mother just because he was hungry. 

“You just want me to stop because you’re in denial.” 

Edgar shifted closer if possible, placing a warm hand on each of Curtis’s thighs.

“You need to eat me. You know you do. You were supposed to do it before, and you didn’t. So I need you to do it now.” 

Edgar’s gaze penetrated deep into Curtis’s mind. The boy knew him, could seemingly read his thoughts. Edgar knew that Curtis was dirty, fucked up in the head, just as he was. Edgar knew Curtis needed to do this, just as he needed for it to be done.

A horrifying grin spread across Edgar’s pale face, canines seeming to sparkle in the dim light of curfew and Curtis braced himself, as he knew he was about to see something that would ingrain nightmares into his sleep for years, weigh down the guilt in his gut so he would never be free of it, of Edgar.

A dirty finger was brought to the young man’s mouth, agonisingly slow, resting the pad on his lips, chapped and split from years of dry cold. Edgar drew his own finger into his mouth. Nestled it between his back teeth.

Curtis blinked and time seemed to pass in bursts of slow motion seconds.

A bone, cracking, echoing in the silence of the Train.

Blood, pouring from Edgar’s grin, like something straight out of one of those Japanese horror movies Curtis used to love.

A hand, reaching out,  _ offering _ to Curtis.

A dirt and blood crusted finger, resting on an open palm.

Curtis took it from Edgar, hesitantly brought it to his mouth. Licked along the skin, tongue tasting the years of work burned into those hands. Bit down on the flesh, blood bursting from the wound and flowing into his mouth.

The taste of Edgar was the taste of heaven.

**Author's Note:**

> thx


End file.
